I'll choose this moment
by a.lakewood
Summary: Wee!chesters. Sam begs Dean to let him stay over at a friend's, and Dean secretly tags along to make sure his brother doesn't fall into harm's way.


**Title**: I'll choose this moment  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: The slightest of spoilers for _A Very Supernatural Christmas._  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word** **Count**: ~1600  
**Summary**: Sam begs Dean to let him stay over at a friend's, and Dean secretly tags along to make sure his brother doesn't fall into harm's way.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.  
**A/N**: Title and inspiration (this was written for a 'story based on a poem' challenge at a community on LJ) from Laurence Binyon's _The Rain Was Ending and Light_.

**oxoxo**

"Come on, Dean," Sammy begged, hands clasped below his chin, thin brows drawn together over beseeching puppy-dog eyes. "Pleeeease?"

Dean closed his history book – his nearly illegible research on zombies tucked neatly between the pages – and tossed it aside to finally look at Sam with all the big-brother-annoyance he could muster. "When?"

Sam's eyebrows relaxed a fraction. "Tonight."

"_Tonight?_ And you're just asking about it _now?_"

The stupid puppy-eyes were back. "Well, I knew Dad would say 'no' and that we wouldn't even _discuss_ it, but...I thought, maybe, _you..._"

"You thought I'd just say 'yes.'"

Sam's hands dropped to his sides. "Kinda."

Dean was quiet a long time, chewing on the inside of his lip. Their dad would probably _kill_ him if he found out, but the more Sam stayed cooped up and away from his friends and other kids his age, the more questions he asked about their father and the more Dean had to lie – and he _hated_ lying to Sammy. "So, whose birthday party is this?"

Sam's grin stretched from ear to ear and lit up his eyes. "Billy Callahan's. His parents are gonna be there and I think he said something about ordering pizza and camping out and swimming in their pool in their backyard." Sam looked hopeful. "So...can I?"

"You don't need to get him a present or anything, do you?"

Sam bit at his bottom lip and made a face. "I don't think so. I think his birthday is, like, tomorrow, but he just gets to have friends over tonight."

"Then I suppose," Dean finally conceded. "What time?"

Sam glanced at the clock on the VCR. "We're supposed to be there in half an hour."

"What time'll you be back tomorrow or should I come get you?"

"Mrs. Callahan can probably drop me off. I can call otherwise. Probably before noon?"

"If I don't hear from you by eleven, I'm coming over."

"Okay." Sam glanced from Dean to the clock again. "So..."

"Go get your stuff ready and I'll walk you over."

"Awesome! You're the _best._"

"And don't you ever forget it!" Dean hollered after Sam as his brother disappeared down the hallway to throw together whatever clothes he'd need for his overnight stay at Billy's.

**oxo**

After Dean had dropped Sam off at the Callahan's front door, he slowly walked down the sidewalk in front of the house that paralleled the street and cataloged all the important details of the house. Two-story, front-door entrance, attached garage (with, most likely, another entrance), as well as sliding-glass patio doors in the backyard that led to the pool (which Dean saw when he rounded the corner and peered down through a couple yards). Of course, it wasn't like he intended to just _leave_ his brother there without _his_ supervision – as much as his father would kill him if he found out Dean let Sam spend the night at some kid's house without John's permission, John would kill him even _more_ if Dean didn't keep an eye on Sam. So Dean left, for a while, only to return as the sun started to sink below the heavily-treed horizon.

There were two large tents set up in the backyard as well as three boys splashing around in the pool and at least four more that Dean could see in the dining room sitting around the table eating pizza right out of the box. One of those boys was Sam. He watched his brother finish off the piece in his hand and dig right in to another. His face was red and his smile was huge as he laughed with his friends.

Dean knew it was weird and seriously paranoid, that _normal_ kids his age didn't keep tabs on their brothers with secret stake-outs. But Dean wasn't a _normal_, never had been, and all those other kids didn't know _half_ of what he knew. Because if they had any kind of _idea_ about the kinds of things that were really out there (all the scary stuff parents thought was make-believe crap, like the boogeyman, that actually _existed_), they'd never leave their brothers alone, either.

So, long after the sun had set, after the boys had retreated into their tents with flashlight beams darting about and casting large boy-shaped shadows every so often, Dean sat in the darkness of the trees that lined the far back of the property and waited. It was close to midnight before the boys went completely silent, having run out of jokes and scary stories to tell, and by then, a light rain had started. Where Dean had himself situated, the drizzle didn't reach him, and if it did, it was quickly absorbed by the hooded sweatshirt he wore. However, within a matter of minutes, the light rain became a downpour, thunder rumbling across the sky, and the trees did nothing to shield Dean from the fat drops. As soon as the lightning started half an hour later, Dean watched Mrs. Callahan, donning a raincoat over her robe as well as a pair of galoshes, rush out of the patio doors into the rain to unzip the fronts of the tents and holler in at the boys to go inside. The wind carried the boys' high-pitched squeals and chatter to Dean's ears and he could easily make out Sam's laughter through distance, darkness, and rain.

The rain didn't let up, didn't slow at all, and Dean continued to watch the house until his skin was numb and he was shaking with cold. He finally stood up and gave in, and, with waterlogged bones, headed home.

**oxo**

Dean couldn't remember talking to Sam on the phone Sunday morning – was barely coherent enough to have a conversation with his brother when Sam burst through the door of their room in the inn, shaking his hair like a wet dog. Dean coughed a wheezy cough that burned his lungs. "Dude," Sam said, tossing his bag to floor beside the couch, "you all right?"

Dean wheezed and coughed again. "Mmhmm."

"You're _never_ sick," Sam commented, heading into the small kitchen to get Dean a glass of water. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay?"

Dean accepted the glass and took a small sip. "Mmhmm," he replied again, then cocooned his sweaty self back into the blankets on the couch.

**oxo**

It wasn't until the next afternoon that Dean's fever finally broke, left him feeling loose-limbed and exhausted as he stared out their window, watching as the sun burned through the last of the slate-gray clouds to light upon every reflective surface in their tiny room. He gazed raptly out over the yard as the dim mid-afternoon gave way to a brilliant red-washed sky.

Beyond the lindenwoods that stood tall over the inn's sign was the elementary school park and Dean could see Sam and his friends running around and splashing through puddles as the rain that had persisted for nearly two day finally dissipated.

Dean felt the corners of his mouth pull upwards in an unconscious smile as he watched his brother. Dean – he'd never be like those boys. Would never be that carefree or have that same innocence. Sammy, though. Sammy still had it all. Still looked at the world with wide eyes, not afraid of anything. And Dean would do whatever it took - _whatever_ - to keep Sam unsullied by the life their father led, keep Sam away from that dark, twisting path Dean was finding himself already heading down.

Dean heard Sam clomping up the stairs before he even realized his brother had disappeared from his view outside the window. He threw the door open, carrying with him the scent of ozone and dirt, errant drops of rain clinging to his tousled hair and sparkling like tiny crystals in the waning sunlight, breathless with windburned cheeks. "Hey," Sam greeted, smiling, eyes bright. "You look better."

"I feel better."

"That's great!" But the happiness fell from his face as his gaze touched upon the bags Dean had packed and set beside the couch. The excitement was completely gone from his voice when he spoke again. "We're leaving again." Sam knew better than to make that phrase a question.

"Yeah."

"So Dad's on his way back, then?"

"Yeah."

"And where's his next job taking us? Or doesn't he _know_ yet?"

"Nebraska."

Sam huffed and threw his school bag at Dean's neatly stacked pile. He barked a short, sarcastic laugh. "Isn't that just _great._"

This was one of those times when Dean forgot that Sam was only _eight years old_. The tone in his voice – the way he knew how to pick his words and how to use them to make them bite _just enough._ Dean knew his lies could only hold for so long. Sam was growing up unnecessarily fast – blink-and-you-miss-it fast – and he was catching on. Knew something wasn't right with their father's "job." But Dean would lie as long as he could. And he'd deal with the fallout when the time came.

For the moment, he just let Sam stalk down the short hallway to the small bedroom they shared and reflected back on the little kid he'd just witnessed playing in the easing rain, splashing through puddles without a care in the world.

That was the Sam he'd keep with him until the time came and he was forced to let go.


End file.
